


Teach Me How To Breathe

by Onlyhuman_100



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Happy Ending, M/M, Mickey - Freeform, On second thought Lip is so gay, Slow Burn, had to write this even though gallavich is endgame, just for Mickey tho, lip might be gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-16 03:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11820483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onlyhuman_100/pseuds/Onlyhuman_100
Summary: Lip and Mickey end up sharing a cigarette one night outside the Gallagher house. It becomes a regular thing.Or the Lip/Mickey bond I needed on the show :)





	1. Try To Fix You

**Author's Note:**

> Before you kill me - gallavich is endgame and Ian is one of my favourite characters, but this story just wrote itself and I always wanted more of a Lip and Mickey relationship on the show :)) should this have a part 2? Feedback appreciated!! X
> 
> PS for the sake of the story, pretend the Gallagher house is close enough to the university that Lip can live at home :)
> 
> Also can someone PLEASE reassure me that I'm not alone in praying mickey comes back

"You did okay, Mickey. You tried." 

He didn't know why he said it. He knew that the vague words, which, already didn't mean a whole lot, would mean that much less coming from him, but they slipped out in a rushed mumble all the same. He convinced himself it was purely selfish, an obligatory acknowledgement of Mickey's efforts with his brother.  
He told himself that he didn't care all that much when he noticed Mickey's hand shaking; a momentary reminder of how out of his depth the kid was, before flexing his jaw and shoving the offending hand into his pocket. He convinced himself he didn't care that Mickey wouldn't meet anyone's eyes these days, only ever fixing them on Ian, as though that's all he could see. Maybe it was. He convinced himself it wasn't gratitude and begrudging respect he was feeling for the guy, who, to the surprise of everyone, himself included, had stuck around for the chaos that was prescription pills and visits to the clinic. 

Yet that night, when Mickey slipped outside and realised the steps were occupied, Lip found himself gently reaching out and grabbing his wrist to stop him from leaving. 'Cold' was the only thought he had before he yanked his hand back as though it had been bit and attempted to distract from it by offering up his cigarette. Mickey had observed the whole ordeal with raised eyebrows before cautiously accepting the smoke. 

They passed it back and forth, and there, in the dark, with Mickey staring at the ground, it just came out. "It's a lot more than most people would do". 

He didn't know why he said it, knew it meant nothing, but Mickey stilled, and his breath hitched, and he looked up slowly and Lip blamed the cigarette on his inability to breathe properly. Mickey's gaze on him was hard and calculating, like it always had been, but the glint in them was unmistakable, even in the dark- tears that he wouldn't let fall. Mickey didn't reply. Lip didn't want to know what he would have said. 

It became a regular thing.

~ 

2 AM reflected blearily at him from the alarm clock near his bed. Stress was gonna be hell on his lungs, he thought to himself as he walked outside in his boxers and a hoodie. Mickey was already sitting down, and only barely glanced up, nodding in acknowledgment and passing Lip the cigarette he was fiddling with. They always shared one, even though the pack was within arms reach. Neither of them ever mentioned it. To anyone else, it would've looked comfortable, but Lip had been finding out new things about Mickey lately. His fingers were tapping out the melody to some old rock song he probably didn't even know he remembered against the cold step. Lip had figured out that Mickey only did that when he was worried; Ian had tossed his pills again.

"When I was fourteen, Monica flushed her pills too", he muttered around the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

Fuck. He didn't know when he had lost his brain to mouth filter, and judging from the disgruntled noise beside him and the unimpressed side long glance Mickey was giving him, the guy was wondering the same thing. They never talked. Lip wasn't surprised. He doesn't think he even remembers how Mickey sounds with the amount the guy's spoken lately, other than when he sometimes strains to hear Mickey whispering things to Ian when his brother couldn't sleep. He wanted to hear what Mickey says to get Ian to calm down. He wouldn't admit that though. So they didn't talk. They'd somehow ended up outside together every night for the past two weeks, sure, but they weren't friends. Lip was just committed to nicotine. Yeah, that was it. 

His tongue, though, had failed to get the memo, and the words tumbled past his parted lips before he could reach out and pull them back in: "Didn't get out of bed for a month. I think I spent every minute with her, just sitting there, as if wiling her to get up would be enough. Fiona'd look at me with, I don't know, like, pity or something in her eyes. Said I shouldn't hold my breath. I did, though, fuck, probably still am. Sat at the end of that bed every day like a goddamned lap dog, begging her to eat the shit I had stolen from the store that day. Almost got kicked out of school for skipping so much. Then one day, she just disappeared. Came back three days later so strung out she couldn't remember my name. Stopped asking her to take her pills. Couldn't even look at her. Then she left for good. Fuck I shouldn't have stopped trying -"

"You mind shutting the fuck up?". Lip was ripped so violently out of his reverie that he physically flinched, not catching the unmistakeable tremble in Mickey's voice despite its harsh tone, but realising too late that the story couldn't have been easy for him to hear, especially with how bad things were with Ian.

Shit. Shit. What the fuck was that? He could feel his face heating up as he racked his brain trying to find a suitable reason for why he would bear his wounds to Mickey Milkovich of all people at 2 in the goddamn morning. Mickey stood up to go back inside. 

"Fuck. Hold on", he said, getting up while berating himself for his moment of vulnerability. The fuck thought it was a good idea to start talking in the first place. Mickey's hand stilled on the door handle and he turned his body slightly so he could fix Lip with a heated glare. Heated and angry, yeah, but noticeably hurt all the same.

Here goes nothing. "I-I meant, shit, I owe you alright? I'd be the first one to bet on you disappearing months ago, but you're here, and you're, fuck, you're helping him so fucking much it's like you being here means we can all breathe properly cause Ian's the fucking safest he's ever been and I'm a shitty brother for not being here so, just, uh, thanks, for not giving up on him, you know, like I did with Monic-" he cut himself off, afraid he over stopped again. 

Mickey was watching him silently, head slightly tilted, gnawing on his bottom lip as he assessed the man opposite him. This is what Lip would have seen if he wasn't suddenly finding his shoes so interesting. He needed a drink. One second, two seconds, three.. And finally, when he couldn't stand it any more and was steeling himself to shove past Mickey to get inside because fuck the guy for making him feel like an asshole, Mickey sighed. "Lip," he said, as the other glanced up, which was an issue because now he was staring into Arctic blue eyes that seemed a little too soft, and shit when did they get so close and - "you're a good brother". Mickey opened his mouth to add something else but then seemed to think better of it, and with a slight raise of his hand in a makeshift wave, turned and went inside, grumbling something about Gallaghers and their love for speeches. 

Lip stayed outside for a few more minutes, trying his best to figure out why his hands were shaking.

~

They didn't talk the next night, and Lip told himself he didn't care. But when Mickey sat down he had two bottles of beer with him, and he looked a little more at ease, a little more in control, like even though all this other shit was practically drowning him, he could handle this situation. He could handle Lip. And Lip, in turn, felt his breathing evening out.

They stayed until both beers were finished.

~

"You shouldn't blame yourself, you know." 

Lip dropped the lighter he had been fiddling with and cursed when it rolled off the step. It was a week after his unexpected outburst, and they had settled into an unspoken routine. 2 AM. Every night. Mickey didn't ask why Lip was awake at that time, and Lip was grateful, so he returned the favour. He'd bring cigarettes, and Micke'd bring beer. Fuck, if anyone had told him a year ago that the most stable part of his life would be nightly smokes with a Milkovich, he would have laughed in their face. Somehow he sensed Mickey thought the same. 

He told himself it wasn't really a big deal, wouldn't care if it stopped. He vaguely wondered if his head was so messed up that he needed some semblance, however fleeting and silent, of normal in his life, or if it was just a welcome escape to a world they both so resented these days, but in the end he decided to stop questioning it. It helped him sleep; couldn't be a bad thing. 

They hadn't talked since then though, adopting nods as a way of greeting, grunts of acknowledgment when a cigarette or beer was offered, and vague waves as versions of exits. Lip had stopped anticipating conversation and so was lost in thoughts of Helene and her husband when Mickey said it. Barely audible, accompanied with a harsh breath at the end as though he hadn't planned on saying it out loud, but still disrupting the silence. He was so surprised that it took him thirty seconds - fuck you so what if he counted - to stutter through a "w-what?"

Mickey glanced sideways at him then jerked his head back down to where he was fiddling with the label on the beer, and if it wasn't so dark, Lip would have noticed a slight flush creeping up his neck. "All that shit with your mum, just, what you said the other night, about not doing enough, you looked pretty torn up about it so-"

"Couldn't give a shit about my mum even if I tried" he bit out coldly. 

Mickey gave him another sidelong look that was both parts unimpressed and uncomfortable. "Good for you, college" he said, not bothering to sound interested, rough voice dripping with sarcasm, then paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully. "Just, wasn't your fault, couldn't have helped anymore than you did. Shouldn't beat yourself up over it." He said it slowly, drawing out each syllable as if he was afraid to let them out of his mouth, afraid he'd regret them. Suddenly, Lip became painfully aware that Mickey had lived his whole life like that, afraid to be who he was and feel what he felt, and the realisation hurt like a punch to the ribs. 

"I don't need your pity." He meant to sound intimidating, but it came out defensive. 

"Wouldn't waste my time pitying you princess, now shut the fuck up", Mickey scoffed around his cigarette. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Mickey got up to leave. Walked back up the steps, turned the door handle- 

"Mickey?"

"What now Gallagher?" he snapped.

"Thanks", he said as he turned around to look at the dark haired boy.

Pause. Ten seconds. A car backfired in the distance. It dawned on Lip vaguely that he counted time when he was nervous. 

"Yeah. Night."

~ 

"You got a kink for geometry or something?"

"Excuse me?". 

Mickey broke eye contact and he dragged his gaze down lazily, stopping to rest on Lip's tattoo. A triangle. Hilarious. It was getting hot again, summer nights becoming almost claustrophobic, so Lip had opted to come outside with nothing but a pair of sweatpants on. 

"Anyone ever tell you you're not funny? uh, the guy at the tattoo place had a shtick about it meaning a shit ton of things, ahm the whole truth, love and courage bullshit or was it the good old father, son and holy ghost. Fuck But, uh, I was hooking up with this girl that summer, got drunk one night and started cursing out Frank and Monica, think it was right after they disappeared on one of their benders. The girl was a philosophy major or some shit, all into symbolism, and she drew this small triangle on my chest with a shitty pen while she listened to me talk. Said it meant father, mother and son. Pointed to the top corner of the drawing and said it was me, cause I was smarter or kinder or whatever than the both of them put together. Some ironic and sarcastic fuck you to whoever said all parents deserve respect or some shit. And, uh, I wanted to believe her at the time, so, thought screw it. Why not." He finished, voice shaky, forcing out a small, humourless chuckle.

He flicked the butt of his cigarette unceremoniously on the ground and risked a glance to Mickey, who was watching him silently, head slightly tilted. 

"They really did a number on you, huh", Mickey said softly, fixing Lip with an assessing gaze.

It was so blunt, tactless and dismissive, yet at the same time so unforgivingly honest and Mickey-like, that this time, Lip's laugh wasn't forced, instead loud and unapologetic in the wind. He only laughed harder when he saw Mickey's scandalised expression. Then the dark haired boy's mouth twitched slightly and he smiled softly, before letting out a quiet chuckle, then a full blown laugh that rung out into the air and mixed with Lip's. 

They laughed because they knew how fucked up the story was, and they also knew that given half the chance he would've gotten the tattoo again, and probably so would Mickey, given the meaning. They laughed because the south side was not only ingrained in their bones it was apparently inked into their skin. It was so bitter, twisted and fucked that all they could do was laugh. 

They stayed there for an hour that night. Didn't speak again, but kept stealing glances when the other wasn't looking, with a bemused look on their faces, as though they couldn't believe the situation they were in.

Neither one noticed that they were done with the beer and cigarettes in the first fifteen minutes.

~

"Jacked a car night of my 16th."

"How'd that work out for you, tough guy?", Lip chuckled, blowing out smoke. 

"Fuck you. Felt like I won the lottery when i found it. A beat up 90's Cadillac, man, fucking gorgeous. Decided right then and there that I'd get in and I'd never come back here. And I, I just drove." Mickey's eyes held a glint and his voice sounded a little softer on the ears than usual, quieter, and if Lip had analysed it he'd probably make some joke about Mickey wanting to let the memory rest in peace. 

"How far'd you get?", Lip questioned, matching Mickey's gentle tone.

"Lake Michigan", Mickey murmured with a small smile as his fingers traced a pattern into the step underneath them. If Lip didn't know any better he'd say it looked suspiciously like the shape of the lake he was talking about. "Just sat there all night. Couldn't see a single wave. It was weird you know, no fucking gunshots, no screaming, felt like I could just sit and just fucking be for a minute. hadn't eaten in a day, I had no clean clothes, had a cracked rib or two - dad's birthday present - don't think I had ever been in more pain. And I don't think I ever felt freer, like my fucking self, ya know?"

"Why the fuck'd you come back?" Lip whispered, curious, desperate even, to know the answer, but scared at the same time.

"Couldn't leave my mum. With him. He'd have killed her." Mickey muttered, leaving out the part where his dad had done just that not a year later.

But Lip knew. Mandy'd told him one night, and he remembered holding her. So he blamed his automatic instincts when he reached out and curled his hand around Mickey's thigh, right above the knee. Mickey froze, staring down at where his leg was heating up, and Lip watched the expressions on his face change as Mickey realised that Lip already knew this story. 

The touch lasted no longer than ten seconds, but it felt like enough time to sear the image into his brain before he was roughly shoved away by Mickey who had already started putting his sweatshirt back on. 

"I don't need your fucking pity", he snarled at a still frozen Lip as he got up to go inside.

"Wouldn't waste my time pitying you, princess" Lip purred around a smirk, echoing Mickey's words from all those weeks ago.

Mickey paused, raised his eyebrows at Lip and fixed him with an unmoved expression. Then he proceeded to sit back down too forcefully and snatch the cigarette out of Lip's mouth too harshly to put in his own. 

But he stayed, so Lip took it as a win.

~ 

And so they started talking. Slowly, and not much, but Lip realised he probably knew more about Mickey than he did about Mandy, Karen or Amanda put together.  
Mickey hated orange. He lost his virginity at fourteen. He was unexpectedly good with numbers. The scar on his left arm was from a bar fight with a homophobic asshole. He could draw. He thumbed the tip of his nose or lower lip when he was frustrated or upset. His eyes wouldn't stay focused on one thing when he was uncomfortable. He was afraid of becoming his father, and hated himself for a thousand different reasons. He found it hard to sleep through the night these days and he hated this place with a vengeance. Mickey wished his kid looked like Ian.

~ 

Then one night Mickey didn't show, and Lip got drunk on Mickey's favourite beer - which, fuck, he knew now - telling himself he didn't care.  
Ian was back on his meds. He tore the skin on his knuckles from punching a wall, and ran his hand under cold water while listening to Ian's breathy moans from the other room. And he told himself he didn't care.

~ 

"Wasn't graced with your presence last night", Lip said, going for nonchalance and failing miserably. 

"Yeah sorry I- uh, well, Ian was feeling better and, he wanted to, you know, so,.." Mickey trailed off with a slightly forced chuckle. "How's your thing with the professor milf going. Sex still as good?" He asked, a teasing lilt to his tone but it sounded slightly off. 

"Her name's Helene, jackass" Lip bit out harshly. 

"I know, could practically give you a biography at this point with how much I have to listen to you whine about her" Mickey joked with no real edge, gently nudging his side. 

"Door's wide open if you don't wanna hear it", Lip snapped, getting up and walking onto the road.

"Damn, Gallagher. Who's dick's up your ass tonight?" Mickey asked, warily and slowly, but still following Lip as he crossed the street.

"Go fuck your self that's who", Lip sneered as he turned a corner, fully intent on getting shitfaced there under the El. "But next time yours is up Ian's ass would you mind putting a gag on it so other people can sleep?" He finished just as he felt a strong hand on his shoulder roughly spin him around. 

"The fuck is your problem, college?" Mickey asked, brows furrowed, slightly out of breath and looking extremely put out by the turn his night was taking. Fuck him.

"Just don't need to hear you fucking my brother while he moans like a bitch, that's all." He spat just as Mickey shoved him backwards and his back hit something hard, causing him to huff out a harsh breath.

"Watch yourself.", Mickey growled lowly as he stepped closer to Lip, crowding him against what felt like a brick wall.

"Make me", Lip spat, punctuating ever childish syllable with a shove at Mickey's chest, forcing him backwards. 

"Okay, tough guy", Mickey muttered before rearing his fist back. Only he missed because Lip ducked, allowing him to land a swift punch to Mickey's stomach instead, sending the other back on his heels, hunching over. When he straightened up though it was with a glint in his eye and this time, his fist didn't miss, connecting squarely with Lip's jaw, then using Lip's surprise to tackle him to the ground. 

They shoved and punched and kicked until they were both panting and groaning in pain, unable to breathe properly. 

Then Lip lit a cigarette and passed it to Mickey.

~

Lip got up gingerly and turned to walk back to the house, but a hand, gentler this time somehow, spun him round again. 

"That's gonna need stitches", Mickey stated, eyeing the bleeding gash on Lip's cheek for a few seconds before looking down at the ground. "I can do it, if you want or whatever, have a lot of practice", he said with a laugh that said he clearly didn't find the punchline all that funny.

"You got a doctor kink or something, Milkovich?" Lip teased cautiously, lips twitching upwards slightly. Mickey's eyes snapped up, surprised and affronted, straightening defensively before noticing the look on Lip's face. He scoffed and looked away for a second like he was offended. Lip chuckled - he knew better. Mickey was trying not to laugh.

"Lip.. why were you upset?" Mickey asked quietly, hand slipping from Lip's shoulder to rest on his lower arm. 

"Just stressed about school", Lip mumbled nonchalantly, refusing to look at Mickey. 

Mickey raised a skeptical eyebrow but remained silent.

~ 

They made their way back to the house, in silence, and just as Lip was about to disappear into his room he heard a cough behind him. He turned back around only to regret it instantly when he realised how close Mickey was standing, and why was he smirki-

"Since we've been divulging information recently, just for the record..", he murmured as he fixed his gaze with Lip's, "Ian wasn't the one getting fucked". Mickey stayed long enough to chuckle a bit at Lip's stunned expression before vanishing into his bedroom and shutting the door.

Lip leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, and fuck he wasn't blushing. It was just godamn hot.

~ 

Ian broke up with Mickey on a Tuesday. 

They all heard the fight. Ian said Mickey didn't owe him anything. Mickey said he loved him. Ian didn't want to take his meds. Mickey didn't think he could stay if he didn't. Ian didn't need to be fixed. Mickey didn't think he could fix him either way. (The last part Mickey didn't say to Ian, but had said to Lip one night after their second beer). 

Lip waited on the steps for four hours that night, staring at two unopened bottles of beer, and he realised with a cold laugh that Mickey wouldn't come to the Gallagher house just for him. And he sat there, selfishly hating his brother for making him leave. 

~ 

Lip blamed the alcohol when he kissed Mickey for the first time.

He found Mickey sitting under the El three nights after he moved out of the Gallagher's house; legs stretched out in front of him, back slumped against a wall, scraped up knuckles nursing a bottle of jack. He looked young and fragile, like he might just bruise on the outside if you said the wrong thing. Lip didn't say it out loud, but he admitted to himself that Mickey looked beautiful in his own contradiction.

Lip moved closer warily, but apparently not quietly enough, because Mickey's head shot up in surprise. He assessed the person in front of him for a minute with his head slightly tilted, an odd look on his face, and Lip felt his face heating up under the scrutiny. The fuck was he doing here? Mickey probably hated him and only put up with him for Ian's sake. Fuck he should go. 

Then Mickey sighed noncommittally before looking back down. Lip took it as an invite to slump down against the wall. 

"Not in the mood for chit chat, Gallagher". His voice was unsteady. Lip told himself it was his imagination.

"Who said I wanna talk to you. I'm just committed to alcohol. Give it here", he muttered, gesturing to the bottle, attempting to ease the unwelcome tension in the air.

All he got for his efforts was a low grunt and the force of the bottle being pressed into his sternum.

Lip managed to last ten minutes before he opened his mouth. "No one blames you, you know". 

He received a harsh shove for ruining the silence, but Lip caught a grumbled "the fuck do I care" make its way past Mickey's lips nonetheless.

"Just meant you can still come around or whatever, you know, for a smoke", he said, really wishing he was drunk enough to excuse what he was saying.

Mickey turned to him abruptly then, blurting out, "the fuck is this?". He then snapped his mouth shut and groaned like he regretted saying it. 

"The fuck is what?" Lip asked, feigning ignorance. Really he was just trying to buy time.

Mickey's eyebrows climbed dangerously close to his hairline. "This". He gestured between the two of them violently. "What the fuck is this. Why are you her-"

The last part of Mickey's admonishment was swallowed by Lip, who had turned suddenly and crashed his lips against the other's. Mickey let out a muffled grunt but didn't move. It took Lip three seconds to pull back. Not far, just enough to gage Mickey's reaction. The other boy was breathing hard, mouth slightly parted. Lip unknowingly bit his lower lip and Mickey's eyes snapped to follow the action. They were still close enough that Lip could smell the booze rolling off Mickey's tongue. Or was that his. Fuck.

Then Mickey leaned in, slowly, gaze flicking between Lip's eyes and lips until he stopped a mere millimetre away, and stilled. 

Lip closed the distance without thinking.

It was slow and deep, the bite of the liquor in sharp contrast to Mickey's pliant lips. The kiss lacked the fervent teenage urgency it probably should have had, but Mickey's hand curled around his neck, and Lip found himself tugging at Mickey's shirt collar to bring him closer, and the actions had an unmistakable air of quiet desperation. The cold air was biting his skin and he felt dizzy, but Mickey caught his lower lip between his teeth and bit down. Hard. No doubt drawing blood. And it felt like an apology. He wanted to call Mickey out on it. But then Mickey sucked his bruised lip back into his mouth and his tongue brushed over the blood. And if Lip was a romantic he would have said it felt like breathing for the first time. 

Then Mickey shoved Lip back a little, not hard, but enough. And he felt cold again.

"Mickey I-" God his voice was a mess. Low and husky and exactly how Mickey looked right now, wrecked. 

"was the drink. don't worry bout it. won't happen again", Mickey said roughly as he stood up and turned to leave.

Mickey didn't let himself think about how Lip's eyes were crystal clear, and Lip failed to mention that Mickey wasn't slurring his words. Neither acknowledged the still mostly full bottle lying on the ground.

And Lip watched him turn and walk home, not a stumble in his step, and let himself breathe.

~

Lip had stopped expecting Mickey to show, but he didn't stop coming outside every night anyway. It was four nights after the kiss and he was still reeling. He hadn't seen Mickey since then. So it was with a mix of fear and anticipation that he watched Mickey walk up the street and stop at the fence of the Gallagher house. Lip waited for him to sit down but Mickey didn't, just stood there, shifting his weight from foot to foot and looking anywhere but at Lip. He didn't want to come inside, but he didn't wanna say it either.

So the look on his face was one of silent gratitude when Lip got up without a word and gestured for Mickey to lead the way.

And when Lip kissed him again that night on the hood of Mickey's car, and Mickey pulled him closer with a demanding tug of his shirt, there wasn't a drop of alcohol in reach.

And Lip thought breathing should always feel this easy.


	2. The Right To Bleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I never promised you anything."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter but I wanted to split this up a bit. Next one should be coming in a day or two - don't worry not the end for them ;) Feedback really appreciated as always!! X

Mickey strolled in to his room to find Lip already lounging on his bed. A black eye suggested he had been in a fight. The cocky grin he aimed at Lip declared him the victor. Lip raised an eyebrow. Mickey didn't offer an explanation, just crawled onto the bed slowly, moving to hover over Lip, one thigh pressed between his legs. 

Lip surged up, not missing a beat, tugging on Mickey's hair and pulling him into a kiss. Mickey hummed his approval as Lip opened his mouth, sinking his teeth into the other boy's lower lip, smirking as the action earned a soft moan. 

"You know," he murmured, pulling back to bite at Mickey's jaw as the dark haired boy hissed. "Bruised and bloody is a good look on you. Really brings out your eyes." He finished just as he hooked one leg around Mickey's ankle and flipped them over. 

Mickey huffed out a breath before shoving him lightly. "You gonna keep spewing poetry, college, or are you gonna fuck me?" His tone was demanding, but Lip hadn't missed the way Mickey's grip tightened on his hip possessively.

~

A week. That's how long it took for Lip to decide that the breathy whimpers Mickey let out when Lip bit his neck were his new favourite sound. It took him another week to reconsider and conclude that he would gladly settle for listening to Mickey moaning out his name for hours instead.

It took Lip three weeks after that to realise he hadn't seen Helene in weeks. It took him another three minutes to admit he couldn't have cared less. 

And it took three months for it to dawn vaguely on Lip that he was in too deep. Three months for him to figure out he was falling in love; the realisation hit him slowly, creeping into his veins and spreading through his bones. And he didn't do anything to stop the intrusion - just kissed Mickey a little harder. 

It took another week after that for Lip's world to come crashing down around him. Coincidentally, it was the same amount of time it had taken for Ian to realise he wanted Mickey back. A second for Lip to realise Mickey would welcome him in with open arms. 

~

"Lip" Mickey said desperately. "Would you at least look at me?" 

"Drop it, Mick. Just go." Stay. 

"Fuck, it's not-I'm not.. Ian, he's-"

"I don't need the fucking breakup speech alright? The fuck do I look like to you?" It hurts. Why does it hurt?

"No that's not- you can't just" 

"I can't just what? Did I miss something or aren't you the one running off to my brother when we're done here?" Is it better with him?

"So that's it then? It's just sex? Can't fuck so you're kicking me out?" He asked, glaring at Lip's back. 

"Fuck you-"

"Lip what the fuck have we been doing huh? It's not like anyone even knows we've ever said more than five words to each other. And if I remember correctly, that was on your godamn terms."

"I never promised you anything." I just need a little time.

"I-"

"Yeah". You didn't ask, but somewhere along the way I realised I wanted to promise you the world.

"Fuck. What'd you want me to fucking do huh? You want me to wait?"

Silence. 

"Lip. Lip, please. Fuck. I owe him everything alright? Everything I have and then some and I-"

"Glad I could keep you occupied while my brother was off screwing randoms.", he snarled. I need you.

"Fuck you, you know it wasn't like that for me-" Mickey hissed through gritted teeth. 

"Whatever." My heart's in my throat. Fuck whoever came up with that expression. 

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sure you are." Me too. 

Silence.

Lip heard the door creak and steeled himself for the imminent slam. He lasted two seconds before his tongue betrayed him, and the words he'd been trying to hold back for the better part of the hour came tumbling out. 

"I never stood a chance, did I." It was a question. And it wasn't a question. He risked a glance.

Mickey was staring at him, a hint of frustrated tears swimming in his eyes, or maybe that was just the light. "Lip..", he pleaded. Lip waited, but Mickey couldn't seem to find the words, and in that moment, Lip felt the kind of sadness that seeped slowly into your bones, rather than exploding in a flash of tears or punches. It hurt like hell. 

"I'll see you around, Milkovich" he muttered. Don't go.

Two minutes after Mickey had left Lip's room - quietly and slowly - Lip puked up the liquor he'd tried to drown in earlier that night. And if anyone had asked, he would've blamed the few stray tears on the putrid smell that hung in the air. 

~ 

Mickey moved back in a few days later. Lip begged for the RA position at the school and took off that same night, barely packing a bag.

He didn't come home for three months. Didn't want to either. Not until the phone calls started. 

~

The first time he called Mickey, it was because he couldn't sleep. Again.


	3. I'll Make It Up To You Someday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "At the time, he couldn't have told you how he had fallen for a Milkovich.
> 
> In retrospect, Lip decided he could narrow it down to six reasons."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this makes up for last chapter's pain X
> 
> If anyone's confused, this chapter veers between present time phone calls and Lip's list of reasons :)) Any feedback is always welcome and appreciated! 
> 
> Listened to "Wake Up" by EDEN while writing this - helps with the vibes xxxx

~

02:20 AM

"Are you okay? What's wrong?" 

Mickey's panicked voice jolted Lip as he realised with an internal groan that he had no excuse for calling. 

So he hung up.

~

At the time, he couldn't have told you how he had fallen for a Milkovich.

In retrospect, Lip decided he could narrow it down to six reasons. 

~ 

01:30 AM

"What'd you want?", he muttered as soon as he picked up the phone.

"Why'd you call last night?"

"Acciden-"

"Bullshit", Mickey growled before the last syllable was out of Lip's mouth. 

Pause.

"Couldn't sleep."

"How long?"

"Since I left."

"Yeah. Me too."

Dial tone. 

~

When Mickey had told him he was a good brother, Lip remembered having to focus all his efforts on staying still under Mickey's burning gaze. 

Everything about the person in front of him at that moment had been unreadable. Lip had thought the comment sounded nonchalant, an obligatory reassurance for someone who had just bore their hearts out to someone. Yet it had sounded sincere, tone forceful, every syllable stressed like Mickey was making sure he heard it. He had appeared nervous, shifting his weight from foot to foot and chewing on his lower lip. But Lip also remembered that Mickey's eyes had been steady, laser focused on his own. He remembered because the look was utterly foreign to him. 

Steel blue eyes had made him momentarily forget where he was - distant gunshots, screaming, dead beat dads, pissed off professors, the constant fear of finally fucking up, Southside - all evaporating under the look the dark haired boy was giving him.

Lip decided that yeah, that was the first reason. It was the first time someone had looked at him like he might actually be worth something. Like he was more than the piece of shit ground he was standing on. 

~

03:00 AM

"Do you wish you could you take it back?"

"Do you?"

"Sometimes."

~

Storming out of Youens' office that night, Lip had told himself he'd go home. Yeah, he'd crash at home. That was the plan - right up until it wasn't. 

He had never felt smaller than when he caught his reflection in the window as he stood on the Milkovich's front porch. He had come home with his tail between his legs, sporting a busted lip, a duffel bag, a constricted throat, and the inevitable realisation that he never would have made it anyway. 

But Mickey had pulled him in. He had taken just long enough after he opened the door to flick his gaze across Lip's whole soul, like he was assessing for potential damage, before he grabbed the back of his neck and tugged him roughly into a bone crushing hug. Lip wondered why Mickey smelt faintly of vanilla, then got distracted by gentle fingers threading through his hair. He was also vaguely aware that Mickey was murmuring something in his ear, soft enough that Lip was reminded of a lullaby, but his attention shifted again as he shivered, calloused fingers tracing timid patterns into the nape of his neck.

Yeah, Lip had registered many things in those few seconds, but one overwhelming realisation struck him so hard he swore it would leave a bruise. 

He didn't know when. He didn't know why. But Lip realised that somewhere along the way, home started to feel like Mickey's arms. 

That was the second.

~

00:40 AM

"Is it better?"

"With him?"

"Yeah."

"Wouldn't be who I am if it weren't for Ian. I owe him the fucking world alright?"

" 'S not what I asked."

"I know."

~

The third reason was when Lip had first spent the night. 

It wasn't the way they had laughed when Mickey's t-shirt got tangled up in his arms. It wasn't the shocked silence when Mickey had tugged too hard and Lip's shirt ripped open dramatically, buttons scattering all over the floor. It wasn't the way his eyes glazed over when they took in Mickey, lying on the bed, naked, willing, hard. Just for him. It wasn't the shit eating grin he got in return. It wasn't the whimper he let out when Mickey bit his lip and he tasted metal, or the way Mickey's whole body arched when Lip bit into his hip, mouthing falling open in an unapologetic moan. It wasn't even the sinful way Mickey liked to keep eye contact when he was on his knees, pretty mouth wrapped around Lip's dick, or how desperately Mickey whined, frustrated tears slipping past his closed eyes, hips bucking when Lip had teasingly avoided touching him for a few minutes. It wasn't the way he literally thought he was on fire when he finally slid in. It wasn't the blissed out look in Mickey's eyes when he came.

It was something else all together. Mickey looked younger, more innocent when he slept. He knew everyone said that about everyone, the cliche used in every shitty romance movie ever made - he wasn't a fucking idiot. Sure, Lip knew if he touched just underneath the dark haired boy's right eye, Mickey would wince because there was a fresh bruise forming just under the surface from the bar fight he was recently in. He also knew if he moved slightly to the left, he would be able to see the faded scar on Mickey's hipbone, courtesy of his piece of shit father. He also knew if Mickey moved his hands even an inch, his crude tattoos would be presented in all their glory. Yeah, Lip knew who Mickey was, a hood boy through and through; but Mickey wasn't wearing his trademark scowl, in fact he wasn't wearing anything else either. Miles and miles of porcelain skin glistened under the rising sun finding its way through the window, his brows slightly furrowed, eyelashes fluttering inconspicuously. He looked like a young boy, as though he was sculpted from some fragile material that should be displayed in a gallery. He appeared, in that moment, so out of place in the dirty room that stank of cigarette smoke and beer, and the sudden anger Lip felt hit him out of nowhere, making him want to puke. He sat there, mouth hanging loosely around a cigarette, tracing circles into Mickey's lower back and hating the world because the boy lying next to him didn't deserve the hand he had been dealt. The boy who could be so gentle when he needed to, not because of the absence of cruelty in his life, but despite the utter abundance of it. It was unfair and undeserved, and Lip found himself cursing whichever higher power had decided Mickey did. 

Mickey shifted, mumbling something indiscernible. Lip jolted out of his thoughts, trying to figure out why he was so angry on Mickey's behalf. It's weird, he had thought, caring about someone. It's like you feel yourself slipping, and when you finally fall, you literally crash to your knees as though all your bones are breaking. It's like you shatter to make room for the heart of the person you, as of now, would give life and limb to protect. And if Lip had known what that was, he would've said it felt a lot like love. 

No, the third reason wasn't the heated gazes or the moans, or even the words. It was watching Mickey sleep, in the early hours of the morning, and realising how fucked he really was. 

~

02:45 AM

"What?" Lip asked when he picked up the phone.

"Went to Lake Michigan today."

Silence.

"Sat there, with this beautiful fucking view and-"

"Mickey, please-"

"And it felt so fucking wrong."

Pause. "Why?"

"Cause I always thought the next time I'd go, you'd come with me."

Pause. "Why're you calling me Mick?"

"Cause I fucking wanted you there today. Just you."

"What does that mean?" 

"I don't know."

~

"Think I'm in love."

The fourth one happened while Lip had his nose buried in one of his bionics textbooks. He was lounging on a bench, Mickey slumped against a tree a few feet away. The clearing was near the university - always deserted, nothing changing, like it was somehow frozen in time. It was a type of normal Lip had so desperately craved during his freshman year, grateful for some place he could be alone. He didn't think about what showing the place to Mickey meant. 

It was just like any other day. He was lazily trying to wrap his head around the topic. Mickey was doodling something on a napkin, cigarette planted between his teeth. Lip had been wanting to talk to him about joining an art class, because fucking hell could Mickey draw. But he didn't know how to start. 

That's when Mickey said it, so quietly that Lip wasn't sure he even heard it. Yeah, it was just like any other day. Right up until it wasn't.

Lip snapped his eyes up from the book, almost dropping it in his haste to turn his body so he could look at Mickey. The latter had his head tilted down slightly, but his eyes were focused intently on Lip, watching, waiting. His brows were furrowed though, mouth clamped tightly shut in a way that led Lip to think that Mickey hadn't meant to say that out loud. He didn't know if the guy looked smug from Lip's shock, or nervous cause of the silence, or a mix of both. 

"Oh yeah? With who?" Lip asked, all eyebrows and feigned innocence. He then sat back and watched as Mickey's face tried to settle on one specific emotion. Defensive? Disappointed? Bemused?

After a minute and maybe fifty other facial expressions, Mickey gave up, opting to settle for a soft smile instead. "Just some guy", he replied, breaking his gaze to rub at the back of his neck.

"Someone finally managed to put a leash on a Milkovich?" Lip asked, whistling as he lay back down. "Must be some guy".

Mickey just threw something - probably the scrunched up napkin - at the back of his head, and Lip chuckled. But his shoulders were tense and his eyes weren't moving on the page in front of him, all focus too busy on straining his ears for a reply. He waited a few long seconds and just as he was about to give up, he heard a soft murmur. 

Later, Lip convinced himself it was just the wind. He didn't want to think about how the spring breeze sounded a lot like the words "yeah, he is", coming from an all too familiar voice. 

~

02:56 AM

"What d'you think would've happened if you hadn't.."

Pause. "What're you asking me, Lip?"

"If it would've worked."

"Lip-

Dial tone. 

~

"I-"

He couldn't say it, and the realisation hit like a ton of bricks. It felt like he had been drowning, and was finally able to break the surface. 

It was a week later. They were just lying in bed, sheets barely covering anything, sweat glistening off their skin, passing a beer back and forth. And suddenly, he wanted to say it so badly. He wanted to tell Mickey he was sorry about Mandy, or Terry, or Ian. He wanted him to know how temperature seemed to spike whenever he was near him (it was a new phenomenon Lip was working on the rights to). He wanted Mickey to feel just how much Lip craved him, every second, every day. He wanted to say he needed him, he wanted him. He wanted to say he was all his. Always. Wanted to take a bullet for him just to prove he would. And if he couldn't have any of that, Lip just wanted Mickey to know he loved him. He wanted to say it so badly his chest ached with the tangible weight of the words. He wanted to say he loved him with every inch of his fucked up piece of shit body. It had come out of nowhere, but all of a sudden he was hit with an overwhelming and inescapable need for Mickey to know.

But his mouth wouldn't open, and the words wouldn't form, and Lip wondered vaguely if Mickey could hear his bones shattering. 

He had said it a countless number of times to girls. Girls that he couldn't have told you the name of now if you had a gun pressed against his sternum. Fuck he'd even said it to Frank a handful of times. So really, in his own fucked up way, not being able to say it meant something in and of its own. Like the very moment the words collided with the air they'd be poisoned, tainted. No longer theirs, no longer able to be protected. The thought terrified him.

"You what?" Mickey asked, waving a hand in front of Lip's face.

"I-I should go soon." 

"Okay."

That was the fifth.

~

01:32 AM

"I wanted to say it that night, you know."

"I know."

"You knew? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Was scared you'd take off running." 

"Probably would've."

"Why that night?"

"Think it was that blowjob you gave."

Pause. "Yeah."

"Yeah."

Dial tone. Lip lasted two minutes before picking up the phone again. 01:39 AM. 

"What?"

"It wasn't just that night, Mick. It was every night. It was because I meant it."

Silence. "And now?"

"Think I still do."

"Yeah." 

~ 

The sixth reason was, surprisingly, Ian's fault, and the fucker didn't even have a clue. The night Mickey moved back into Ian's room, right before Lip left, he had stopped his brother and asked the question that had been burning a hole through his brain since the second he found out.

"Why now?"

Ian blinked, shocked at the interrogation. "He's a good guy, I guess" he said after a moment's consideration. "Plus I've got all my meds balanced now, so, I mean why not, right?"

Lip stared at him. Did Ian mean there wouldn't be any issues this time because he was on his meds? He wondered vaguely what would've happened if they hadn't broken up. Would Mickey have ended it? He didn't dwell on it. Didn't want to know. 

The redhead's question echoed in his head. Why not? He could think of about a thousand reasons that were already on the tip of his tongue, words like 'deserve' and 'mine' piling up in his brain, one on top of the other, like a makeshift barricade protecting him from his reality. He didn't let any of them slip though. He didn't think he could speak. He wasn't even sure he was breathing properly.

Ian's eyebrows were raised and he looked entirely amused with the situation, unaware that Lip - who would've sworn he was in physical pain - could barely stand on his feet.

Lip would die for Ian in a second, absolutely no questions asked. Bullet, cliff, what the fuck ever the expression was. Yet, standing there, staring at his brother's relaxed and indifferent expression, he didn't think he had ever hated anyone more. And he hated himself as a result.

He went to a bar. Sat there playing with empty shot glasses for the better part of an hour. He lined them up and shifted them around like soldiers on a battlefield, fighting some imaginary enemy in his head as he tried to rearrange his body into negative space. Then he broke someone's nose. Or jaw. He really couldn't remember. 

Later, staring into the mirror at the coed bathroom, all he could look at were his eyes. A fractured hand. A black eye. Few bruised ribs. That was the expert detective work that the med school student down the hall had thrown at him. His torso was littered with violent reds and vengeful purples, and all he could look at were his eyes. He could've sworn they were duller, not the piercing blue they once were; It was probably the light. 

And yeah, Lip would never admit it, but he cried that night. You know that shaky feeling, when you're trying to calm down but you can't inhale properly so your whole body starts shaking. Lip hadn't felt it in years, honestly thought he'd never feel it again. So he violently cursed tattooed knuckles and steel blue eyes until breathing in didn't hurt so much. 

Lip figured that night probably earned a place in his list. 

~

"I broke up with Ian today."

Silence. "W-what? Why?"

"Told him I was in love with someone else."

Pause. "With who?"

Pause. "Just some guy." Lip swore he could hear Mickey's smile through the phone.

Silence. 

"Can I come over?" Mickey asked, voice unsteady. 

"Yeah", Lip breathed, hand shaking. 

~ 

He added another reason to his list that night. Opening the door to his dorm room and seeing Mickey, hair and clothes soaking wet from the storm, and grinning from ear to ear as he locked his gaze with Lip's. Yeah, that was definitely the seventh. 

"Sorry it took so long."

"'S'okay."

~


End file.
